Not True Love
by MomentaryGrace
Summary: Set in first-season Storybrooke, in the same AU as my Enchanted Forest stories. The pawnbroker's assistant has an interesting relationship with her boss. Crosses into mild M rated territory.


**Not True Love**

Lacey French was perched at the edge of the desk in the pawnbroker's back room. Her skirt was hitched up around her waist, her panties were on the floor somewhere, and her legs were wrapped around the pawnbroker's hips.

...

The affair had been going on for about a month, now. She had been working for him for... she couldn't quite remember how long. Things were so much the same in this town from day to day, that it all seemed to blur together. That was the main reason she had taken the job with Mr. Gold , she thought, anything other than another day of potting soil and flower arranging and working for her father. The Mayor's boy, Henry, had been a small child , so a few years now, at least.

She remembered distinctly how the affair started, at any rate. That day had begun differently. The town had been buzzing about the fact that the hands of the tower clock had begun moving for the first time in... how long had the clock been frozen, anyway? When she stopped by Granny's on her way to work, Ruby had been full of gossip about the stranger who had checked in the night before. 'Ask Mr. Gold about her. He was there, collecting the rent.'

She walked into the shop, and opened her mouth to do just that, but at the sight of her a look of such longing and hunger crossed the pawnbroker's face, that she stopped in her tracks. He looked away immediately and busied himself with something, and neither of them said anything about it, but she saw that look again, behind her eyelids at night when she lay down to sleep.

She was not entirely surprised , then, when, a few days later, he came up behind her in the back room when she was helping him tidy up after closing.

'I have a proposition for you , Miss French.' The inflection of his voice left no doubt about the nature of his proposition. His left hand rested lightly on her shoulder and his thumb brushed the skin near the base of her neck. He was so close to her that his breath stirred her hair. 'What I propose is not entirely ethical, since I am your employer. If you choose to turn me down, I will step away from you now, and we will not speak of it again. It will not affect your employment status. Do you understand?'

Lacey nodded, and Mr. Gold continued, his nose close to her cheek, his voice husky in her ear now. 'If we do this, there are rules . No one must know. No one. Certainly not your father, and especially not Regina.'

'The Mayor?'

'She is nosey, and my private life is none of her business.'

Lacey turned her head. Their mouths were close together. Mr. Gold moved back enough to let her turn fully to face him.

'There will be no kissing. This is not "true love" , Miss French. I am lonely and you,' He reached out and gently touched her face. There was the slightest catch in his voice when he continued. 'You remind me of someone I once knew.' His hand trailed down toward the front of her dress, and the corners of his thin lips quirked up slightly. 'You will not object if I call you Belle?'

The whole thing was creepy, if she really thought about it, but his hand had reached her breast, just barely brushing the nipple through her clothing, so she didn't think. She just nodded wordlessly. She wouldn't object if he called her Betty Boop, as long as his hand didn't leave her body.

'Good.' He leaned his cane against the desk, and bent to place his lips against her throat.

...

Their couplings were quick and furtive. There was a bed in the back room. Sometimes they made it that far, often they didn't.

It was not "true love". In fact, since he was her boss, it could have been called sexual harassment, although he made it a point to ask her permission, every time, and to emphasize that her answer did not affect her employment. It was part of the ritual. And he seemed pleased every time when she said yes, as if he half expected her to turn him down. Other than that there was very little preamble. Her skirts were usually short and easily pushed out of the way. His buttons were an annoyance sometimes, but quickly dealt with.

It was not love, but she responded to his touch. The thought of turning him down never crossed her mind. He was old, probably as old as her father. She suspected that he touched up his hair, but there was grey at the temples , and lines on his face. When he flashed a smile, the lines on his face creased in ways that made her heart beat faster.

It was not love, but she certainly lusted after him. He was not tall, but he cut an impressive figure in his three-piece suits. There was a hint of middle-age spread hiding beneath his waistcoats, it was true, but his legs were still lean and well shaped, and under his shirt, the flesh of his belly was soft and smooth.

She had not been with a man before, she would certainly remember if she had been, but the first time he entered her there had been no resistance, only overwhelming sensation, and their bodies moved together seamlessly, instinctively, as if they were already familiar with each other.

...

He was thrusting urgently into her now, nearing the edge and taking her with him. His hands were braced on either side of her, supporting his weight, and his breath was ragged in her ear. She was moaning softly, clinging to the lapels of his jacket.

'Belle.' the name came out in a groan, and she whimpered in her throat and threw her arms around his neck, her body throbbing in time with his.

His mouth was against her cheek, and his lips were parted as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

She didn't love him. He was the man parents warned their children against, and she knew why. He was sharp tongued and short tempered. People rarely came to him unless they were desperate, and when they did, the deals he made usually seemed to benefit him much more than them. No a mount of pleading would persuade him to alter a deal once it had been struck, but she had seen him strike surprisingly generous deals with the neediest souls. There was a softer side to him that no one in town seemed to acknowledge. There was a change that came over his face on the rare times when children came into the shop. Most parents kept their kids away from him, but Paige came in to browse occasionally, all curiosity, sweet smiles, and lively imagination. Henry came in sometimes, mostly, Lacey thought, because he knew it annoyed his mother . The fleeting tenderness that crossed Mr. Gold's features on these occasions made her wonder if he had ever been a father. She knew so little about him, really. She didn't even know his first name, and he never called her by hers.

She knew what they had wasn't really love, couldn't possibly be, but on some impulse she didn't fully understand, she laced her fingers into his hair, turned her head, and pressed her mouth against his.

His lips clung to hers for a moment, and then she stiffened in shock, and he pulled back, staring at her intently, his brow furrowed in concern.

...

_She woke alone in 'their room' the dungeon, again. It was some time in the early hours of the morning. She knew exactly where Rumple would be. He had not been sleeping at all recently, and he had been drinking, nipping from a flask when he thought she wasn't looking. She sighed and walked upstairs to the Great Hall._

_She put her hands on his shoulders as he sat at the spinning wheel. 'I don't suppose it would do any good to ask you, again, to talk to me.' _

_He didn't answer, but reached down and picked up a pair of scissors lying on the floor, snipping off a length of gold._

_'Wait here.' The order was terse. He rose, walked to the table. There was a small bowl of liquid there, and he dipped the gold in it, and muttered a few words. Walking back to her, he loosely tied the string around her neck._

_'This will keep you from her sight, until you reach your father's house. You should be safe there. I think she is too preoccupied now to waste any special malice on you. It is the last protection I can offer you.' His brow furrowed. There was more hope than certainty in his voice. Belle felt a thrill of fear._

_'It is time.'_

_Rumplestiltskin nodded. 'By this time tomorrow I will be in prison. They need to think I am helpless, or they won't come to me. I have a few more deals to make.' His eyes closed. 'Go now.' His voice was husky, barely more that a whisper. 'Leave as soon as it is light. I truly cannot bear this.'_

_'We will see each other again.' Her own voice shook._

_His head shake was emphatic. 'The next time you see me, you will not know me.'_

_'I will always know you.'_

_'Better than anyone, Love.' He opened his eyes, gripped her shoulders. She could feel his claws digging into her flesh. 'It is a terrible curse. I am a terrible man. Go. Now!' His voice rose in anguish._

_She leaned in, past all of his pain and anger, and kissed his cheek, as close to his mouth as she dared. Then she placed her trembling hand over her own mouth, and she left._

'Rumplestiltskin.'

He smiled slowly. 'Yes, my Belle.'

His eyes were deep brown instead of flat gold. His skin was smoother, human. His hair was sleeker. She reached to touch his face, and then blushed slightly when she suddenly became aware, again, of the disheveled state of their clothing and the reason for it. She laughed, smoothed down his shirt, and began rebuttoning his waistcoat. 'You haven't changed much. You are still a lecher and a glutton.'

He chuckled, a ghost of his impish giggle.' The petit fours in this world are not as good as your tea-cakes, but as Lacey knows, I do have a fondness for them.' His expression turned serious. 'You have questions, no doubt, and I will answer as many as I can tonight, but we don't have much time. Your father will be expecting you home soon.'

'Can we at least get dressed first?'

The smile flickered across his face again . 'Of course.'

She retrieved her panties from the floor and put them on, while he finished tucking in his shirt, and zipping and buckling himself back up. She hitched herself back up on the desk, but he picked his cane up from where it was leaning, and began wandering restlessly around the room.

'Your leg.'

'Old war wound. Centuries old. The transformation into the Dark One healed it, but here...'

'You are human again.'

'Yes.'

'And your powers?'

'The only power I have here is financial, which is quite useful in this world, I have found. That, and the Saviour trusts me just a little bit more than she trusts Regina . Or distrusts me slightly less, anyway. Its not much, but it is something.' He had picked an object up, and was holding it.

'The kiss...'

He sighed. 'I was afraid of something like this. There is no magic in this world, except what little we brought with us, but true love is ...unpredictable.' Belle recognized the object he was holding. It was a chipped cup. 'It was better for you that you remained ignorant. It is not easy straddling two realities. And if Regina found out about us , if she knew that you know... She is a vengeful woman. I do not know what she would try to do to you.'

He shook his head, clutched the cup tighter. 'I should not have started the affair at all. When I hired Lacey, I did not know at first why she was important to me. Only that she was. My memory was still fragmentary. And then the Saviour showed up, and it all came back. That first night, when I should have been planning and making preparations, all I could think of is that I would be seeing you again in the morning. But it wasn't you of course, not fully. Your face, your body, some traces of who you were ... I took what I could get. I missed you, Belle.'

He set the cup down, and crossed the distance between them. She lifted her face to his. The kiss this time was long and deep, a pleasure they had been denied for three decades.

...

'But Charming and Snow have kissed.' Their relationship was the newest scandal in town. In this world Prince Charming was a married man, and Snow White was the Other Woman. 'They don't remember, do they?' Belle had finally pulled back from him again, far enough to ask more questions. He leaned against the desk beside her, holding her hand.

'No, it is different for them, perhaps because the curse was cast to keep them apart. Or maybe it is because I already remembered. Or because it was my curse to begin with.' He held her chin, turned her face toward his. 'We have to be very careful, Darling.'

'But we can still be together.' Her voice wavered slightly.

He nodded, kissed her once more, tenderly. 'I couldn't live any other way, Sweetheart. Now go. I will see you tomorrow.'

She slid off the desk and tugged at her skirt. Where _did_ Lacey get her taste in clothes?

It was a cold night, and she had a lot to think about. She pulled her coat close as she left the shop, not noticing across the street, Regina Mills, watching from the shadows and smirking.


End file.
